


Downpour

by kathkin



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Samfro Week, Samfro Week Autumn 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: They had all afternoon. Sam could see it stretching out before him, sweet and golden. They’d stay in bed till dinner time. They’d talk, and cuddle, and make love again if they felt like it.





	Downpour

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Illegible_Scribble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) in the [SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:** anything goes!
> 
> For any or even all days of the week, write whatever you like based on whatever you please!

It had been threatening rain all morning, the sky grey and heaven. All the while Sam had been at work in the garden he’d been casting angry looks up at the heavens as if you say _don’t you dare. Don’t you make me work in rain_.

But the rain didn’t come until he was safe at home for lunch, so he was glad of it in the end. The countryside and gardens needed it. The wet weather made being indoors warm and snug and appealing.

He sat through lunch with his gaffer and Marigold, pushing his food about his plate, staying out of the slow conversation about the vegetables and the weather and the gossip from Bywater. It was his turn to dry the dishes and he counted them off, _four, five, six_, done. He was free to go.

Humming to himself he went to the hall and fetched his cloak from his hook. As he was fastening it Marigold poked her head out of the pantry and said, “where are you off to, then?”

“Back up the hill,” said Sam to his cloak fastening.

“What for?” she said.

“Mr Frodo asked me too,” said Sam. “He’s got more work for me this afternoon.”

Marigold stepped out into the hall. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” she said.

“Aye, well,” said Sam. “Indoor work, see.” He shot her a smile and pulling up his hood he reached for the latch and stepped out into the downpour.

*

The rain drummed against the windowpanes and the bedroom was filled with its gentle sound, and with the _creak, creak_ of the bed shifting, and the sounds of their bodies moving together.

Sam lay on his stomach, clutching at one of Frodo’s down pillows, his mouth open in a silent cry; Frodo atop him, moving in him.

Frodo’s hand, on his hip, holding him steady; his breath, coming in short, sharp gasps against the skin of Sam’s shoulder. He grunted softly each time he thrust in, “_mm_,” he said. “Sam – _yes_ – oh, you’re –” A groan. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. “_Oh_ that’s good.”

Sam buried his face in the pillow, his heart racing, trying to breathe. He wanted this to last. He canted his hips up to meet Frodo, and again, and Frodo said, “_oh yes_,” his voice hot against Sam’s neck. “Good lad.”

He adjusted his grip on Sam’s hip and when he thrust in again the angle was different and oh _glory_ that felt good, that was perfect. Sam felt his toes curl, his vision blurring, hot and cold shivers running all up and down his body and he cried out aloud.

“Good?” said Frodo, his voice rough.

“Mmmrh,” said Sam and he heard Frodo laugh, felt another kiss.

“You drive me wild,” said Frodo into his ear. “You make me feel – so good. You know that?”

He knew that for Frodo had told him as much before but he didn’t need to be told, he could feel Frodo’s heartbeat inside him, feel how hot and hard he was. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Neither of them were.

“_Please_,” gasped Sam and Frodo’s hand let go of his hip, slipping beneath him, touching, stroking, closing around him, and he muffled his cries in the pillow, pushing his hips up into Frodo’s body, wanting more of him, wanting him deeper, desperate for release, not wanting it to end.

For a few more breathless moments he teetered on the brink; one more perfect stroke and he went over, crying out, drowning in it, his whole body pulsing with it, and for half a second he was weightless.

Then he was heavy, limp and shivering all over. He heard Frodo say, “oh my – oh _yes_ –” and then he gasped and groaned aloud in a way Sam knew intimately meant he was done. His hand found Sam’s, on the pillow, and Sam gripped it tight.

With a last sigh of release Frodo slipped out of him and slumped down on the bed. He lay half atop Sam, still holding his hand. “That was wonderful.”

“Mm,” Sam agreed. It always was.

He didn’t want to talk, or move. He wanted to lie there and listen to the rain drumming against the windows, listen to the sound of Frodo breathing, bask in the aftermath as long as he could. The moments drifted by.

“Mm.” Frodo let go of Sam’s hand. He ran his hand along his arm, over his shoulder, stroking his back, and Sam sighed at the contact. “Will you stay?”

“Dunno,” said Sam into the pillow.

“I think.” Frodo dropped a kiss on his shoulder. “It would be remiss of me to let you go home in this awful weather.”

“Oh?” said Sam.

“I think you shall have to stay until it lets up,” said Frodo, his hand going up and down Sam’s back, caressing.

“Might be all night,” said Sam.

Frodo kissed his shoulder again. “Then you shall have to stay the night.”

“What’ll I tell my dad?” said Sam.

“We’ll think of something,” said Frodo, nuzzling him.

They had all afternoon. Sam could see it stretching out before him, sweet and golden. They’d stay in bed till dinner time. They’d talk, and cuddle, and make love again if they felt like it. And maybe he really would spend the night, and they’d pass some of the morning the same way.

He didn’t want to move. But he wanted a proper kiss. Summoning his strength he pushed himself up and faced Frodo, looked into his beautiful sparkling eyes. Reaching out Sam touched his face. He wanted to say _you’re so handsome_ or _I love your eyes_ but what came out was, “oh, you’ve got eyes.”

Frodo laughed. “I certainly hope so,” he said, and dipping his head forward he kissed Sam on the mouth.

The kiss went on for a while, soft and slow. There was no urgency to it, no heat, only gentleness and affection, and when it was over they lay a moment, nose to nose.

“I don’t want to get out of bed,” said Frodo, voice low.

“Me neither,” said Sam.

“Shall we stay here till tea time?” said Frodo.

“I’d like that,” said Sam. He swallowed. His mouth was dry. “I’m thirsty, though.”

“Then get yourself something to drink,” said Frodo.

“Don’t want to get up,” said Sam.

“Well, then,” said Frodo.

“Will you go?” said Sam.

“Go where?” said Frodo.

“To get me some water,” said Sam.

Frodo raised his head a little, and looked down at him. “Shan’t,” he said. “I don’t want to get up either.”

Sam considered his predicament. “I’ll not kiss you again unless you go.”

Frodo laughed a little, and ducked down to kiss him. Sam moved his head back, dodging, and Frodo fixed him with a hard look. “You’re not serious.”

“No more kisses,” said Sam. “I mean it.” Frodo made to kiss him again, and again he dodged. “Please?”

Frodo fixed him with an even harder look. Then in a sudden decisive flounce, he kicked away the sheets and rolled off the bed. “You drive a hard bargain, Sam Gamgee,” he said as he shrugged on his dressing gown.”

“Thank you,” said Sam. He wasn’t sure he could get up even if he wanted to. His knees had turned to jelly.

“Can I get you anything else while I’m up?” said Frodo.

Sam knew he didn’t mean it, but chanced it anyway. “I’m hungry too.”

Frodo tilted his head in disbelief. “_Really_?”

“I didn’t eat much at lunch,” Sam protested. “Anyhow, if you wanted me to be able to walk after you shouldn’t have tupped me so good.”

That stopped Frodo in his tracks. For a moment he stood torn between irritation and pride at his handiwork. “Well – fine,” he said. “I will get you a snack.” He flapped one of the strings of his dressing gown at Sam and said, “but if you get crumbs in my bed I shan’t let you in it any more.”

“You will,” said Sam.

“I won’t,” said Frodo.

“You’ll miss me,” said Sam.

“We can make love somewhere else,” said Frodo, fastening his dressing gown. “I have – many beds. And stop smirking!”

“Shan’t,” said Sam, though he wasn’t strictly smirking. It was only that he was sunnily, gloriously content.

“You’re lucky you’re so loveable.” Frodo opened the door.

“Come back soon,” Sam called after him.

Frodo poked his head back into the room and said, “you’re a nuisance, you know that?” As he went off down the passage, Sam heard him say to himself, “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

With a sigh Sam put the pillow he’d been holding back into place and heaved himself properly onto the bed, lolling against the pillows, one hand behind his head. His other hand he trailed down his own chest, over his stomach. He lay there for long minutes, listening to the rain outside, enjoying the warm glow of his belly, the feel of being shamelessly naked.

The door banged against the wall, and in came Frodo with a cup of water and a plate of bread and honey. “I meant it about the crumbs,” he said as he clambered onto the bed and proffered them.

“Thank you,” said Sam. He put the plate on the bedside table for later and took a generous swig of water.

“Here,” said Frodo, his cool hand cupping Sam’s face, drawing him in for a kiss, short and sweet. “Mm,” he said, and unfastening his dressing gown he tossed it vaguely in the direction of the chair. “Don’t you _dare_ ask me to get out of bed again before tea time.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Sam. He fetched his bread and honey and began to eat. Honey dribbled down his wrist, and he licked it off.

Leaning away from him Frodo opened his bedside drawer and fetched his pipeweed-pouch, and his pipe. Blowing out smoke he lay back against the headboard with a sigh of profound contentment. “Oh, that’s nice.” He offered Sam the pipe. “Want some?”

“In a bit.” Balancing the plate, Sam wriggled in closer to Frodo’s body. Frodo’s arm draped around his shoulders. He settled his head against Frodo’s chest and resumed eating.

They’d talked a lot afterwards, the first time they’d made love. About all sorts of things, about elves and dragons, about the stars, about their lives and what they loved. It had been good, that talk, that rambling opening of their hearts. But this was good too, this peaceable silence, safe in the knowledge that they were both right where they wanted to be.

Outside there was a flash of light and a moment later thunder rolled, starting them both. “Hm,” said Frodo. “That’s close.”

“Is it?” said Sam.

“Bilbo told me once you can tell how far away the strike is by how soon you hear the thunder after you see the lightning,” said Frodo. “I forget how it works.”

“Might be I’ll have to stay the night,” said Sam.

“Might be,” said Frodo. “I’d like that.”

“Even though I’m a nuisance?” said Sam.

“Even so.” Frodo offered Sam the pipe again. “Are you sure?”

“Go on,” said Sam, and took a puff. “That’s smooth, that is.”

“It’s the good stuff.” Frodo squeezed his shoulder fondly.

Sam bit into his bread and honey dribbled down onto his chest. “Whoops!”

“Oh, here,” said Frodo, shifting about. “Let me.” Dipping his head he licked the honey from Sam’s skin, running his tongue along the line of Sam’s clavicle, and Sam laughed, ticklish.

“Hey!” he said, squirming.

“You like that?” said Frodo. “Here.” He kissed Sam on the mouth, honey-sweet and good and unhurried. “Stay the night,” he said against Sam’s lips.

Sam wanted to say, _I’ll stay forever_. He said, “alright.”


End file.
